The War of the Maker
by EternalProvidence83
Summary: Marcus Trevelyan was killed protecting his only daughter from a high dragon attack. His Heiress, Amelia Trevelyan died with him. Living in the shadows, "The Fox", began her hunt. It isn't until the self proclaimed ghost finds herself alive and now the ungrateful leader of the Divine's holy inquisition that she faces her greatest nemesis. Her divine bad luck. [FTrevelyan!Varric]


_An aged green book sat weathered and blanketed in a generous layer of dust. Warn by age, a single page inside its bindings were dog eared. It began," There was once a tiny fishing village on the Waking Sea that was set upon by the Tevinter Imperium, which enslaved the villagers to be sold in the markets of Minrathous, leaving behind only the old and the infirm. One of the captives was the child Andraste_." _[[-from The Sermons of Justinia II ]]_

"Five gold for twelve bushels, thirty-eight silver for the second dozen…"

Mumblings were the only sound in the hallway as Galland scribbled across the inventory list for the kitchens. Cecil would sound her bellowing throughout the entirety of the Imperium, or until the Creators came home if he didn't have this to her by the fortnight's end. Death most certainly wouldn't stop her from haunting him. The knock on the Manor's ornate mahogany door shook the stern-eyed elf's concentration free and he had to resist the urge to release an old Dalish curse. He made his way to throw open the door with annoyance.

In a huff he turned his gaze to the intruder only to be instantly deflated and stiffen his posture. Instead of the ill adjusted delivery boy he often found at this hour, he met the hooded eyes of a reasonably attractive young woman. Though the weather was foggy and dreadful, she seemed at ease under her heavy green cloak. Freezing for a moment, he snapped into an instinctual bow.

"Forgive me Madam, the Master had not informed me that your appointment had changed! Allow me to escort you into the parlor and I will inform him that you have arrived".

The younger woman smiled briefly and nodded her head. "Thank you Serah," she replied before quickly accepting the invitation through the open door.

The middle-aged elf let loose a quiet sigh before he closed the heavy wood doors to the cold behind her. Turning from the threshold he regarded the young woman for a moment. She had taken the initiative of admiring one of the finely painted portraits that hung in the dim hallway, seemingly to have forgotten his presence. Her eyes sparked with appreciation at the intricate detail. It took every ounce of self-control Galland contained not to roll his eyes in exasperation. His master was a vain man indeed. The first view that visitors were greeted with, was of course, his expensive art collection. Most of which consisted of portraiture of himself. He had informed the master of his opinion on this decorating choice often and his employer had simply laughed.

"Perhaps you ought to leave the interior design to me, my brisk young friend, Hm?"

Though the elf knew it had meant to be an insult, he had taken it with mirth. His camaraderie with his employer was a deeply treasured one. As rare as decency was found amongst the nobility in the Magisterium. Not that Galland would ever express it aloud. Slipping out of his reverie, he was about to rudely clear his throat when the girl turned to him.

" Is this the Magister's likeness?"

Her accent was soft in expression, but harsh in execution. Orlesian in every way. The elf pursed his lips and turned towards the particular painting she was standing in front of. The previous hardness that etched his features softly melted away into an expression of reverence when he beheld it. Grey eyes traced the large canvas carefully. Richly pigmented oils were the medium of choice, and a delicate stroke style allowed the features of the subject to come together in the perfect likeness. With fascination, the young woman watched the elf closely.

The portrait was a middle aged man in armor. Though tanned and handsome in some respects, his features appeared hardened in others. His copper colored hair was tied at the base of his neck in a graceful fashion and pieces hung around cheerful green eyes. The man had the trimmings of a small beard, but was well kept. He wore Ornately decorated Chevalier armor and had a soft smile on his lips in a kind expression. His posture proud and grasping the hilt of a dramatically ornate sword. Truly the artist had captured the gentle soul of her subject.

'Remarkable', the elf nostalgically thought.

"Pardon Madam, it is not. This particular piece was commissioned as a gift for the Magister's coronation ceremony by a close acquaintance. Comtesse Yvette Montilyet is a celebrated artisan in the Orlesian court, as I am sure you are aware. This is one of the few pieces she allowed to be sold outside the Orlesian border."

The young woman's eyes only furthered their awe as she turned to look at the painting again.

"If I may ask, who is the man?"

Galland smiled in automatic reaction, and slid his grey eyes to her gaze. He then gently ran a hand over the bronzed plaque at the bottom of the ornate gold frame. In delicate curvature, the name "Bann Marcus Zaneafyr Trevelyan the III of Ostwick" had been etched. She followed his hand to the plate. Her thoughts seemed to churn heavily as Galland turned from her and opened the closest door to where she was standing.

"If you'll follow me Madam, I'll have some refreshments waiting for you in the drawing room. The Magister will be with you in just a few moments."

She paused to finish admiring the painting, finally accepting that the elf was unwilling to answer any more questions about why the Magister had an obviously very expensive portrait of a Free-Marches Landowner. She chose a spot a little near to the central masonry fireplace that stood the entire height of the room. She fluffed her skirts and seldom had time to set them in order before she heard a quiet presence enter the room. Her eyes met an inquisitive gaze and she blushed. Had he been watching her long?

'My...Such a handsome face,' came her quiet thought.

The beautiful coloring of Tevinter men were something to be envied indeed. She smiled shyly in response to his polite expression and bowed her head in greeting. The man approached the fireplace and gave a smooth bow in return before approaching her closer.

"Ah, Mi'lady Beaumont, I am pleased to see you have arrived safely. I trust your journey was none too perilous?"

The girl laughed softly as the magister took a seat in an arm chair just a short distance away, eyeing Galland as he arrived to place a silver tray of tea and small cookies on the table between them.

"I assure you nothing of significance transpired, Lord Pavus. Though, I 'as rather surprised that my arrival was so overlooked at the border's gates."

The older man smiled knowingly and proceeded to shoo the servant away by pouring his own tea, and then doing the same for her. She nodded a silent thanks, picked up the cup delicately and greedily sipped the liquid warmth. He watched her as he nursed a cup of his own.

'Ah yes. My gracious countrymen have not always been the most welcoming bunch have they? We're rather famous… or rather infamous for our mistrust of all things outside our glorious borders. The Magisterium is a unique entity in its treatment of political equals."

The magister pursed his lips into a tight line as the Orlesian woman smiled knowingly. She had not known the magister for any great length of time, but had been in contact with him long enough to know that his views of patriotism towards his country were quite liberal compared to his fellow citizens. It benefitted her greatly, if she were honest. Taking the moment of silence to change the subject, the Magister placed his cup back on the table gently before him and released a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.

"Now Madame, I'm certain that you're rather tired from your journey and didn't come here to listen to an old man complain about politics. May I ask how you came to knowledge of my finesse for items of an... eclectic nature? I don't suppose it was someone from Ostiwick was it?"

His history often followed him from unwanted places. This wasn't the first time that his name has been brought to the attention of a wealthy collector of magical artifacts. His lover felt the constant need to spread his name to the whole of Thedas as the world's leading authority on all things of the Arcane. He had to sigh internally to avoid giving away his thought train. One day he would have stern word with that persistently obnoxious Chevalier.

Not noticing the man's internal dialogue, she smiled as she clutched the small bundle of green silk in her lap protectively. Her soft brown eyes sparked with intrigue as she quieted her tone to answer his inquiry.

"I hope you'll forgive my vagueness, misère. But our mutual acquaintance assured me that you would know for yourself when I arrived."

A small bell rang somewhere in the back of Dorian's head in alarm. He raised an eyebrow and clutched his chin in thought, watching her closely. Why the mystery? Usually only such discreteness was necessary when something of illicit nature was going on. As big of fan as he was of having absolutely no context for a situation, he let her continue. Suddenly doubts crept into his mind about whether or not his Chevalier had anything to do with this strange Orlesian Noble in his study. The girl shrunk a bit under his intense gaze and proceeded to place the bundle of velvet she had had in her lap, onto the table between them. She gingerly pushed it towards him and met his gaze.

"Perhaps it would be easier if you saw the item yourself, misère."

Dorian hardened his eyes as they slipped from her face on to the item in question. He carefully reached out and undid the golden threads that held the bundle together. Unfolding each delicate layer, he eventually came to the item in question. What his eyes were met with, nearly caused him to cry out with shock.

Lying in shining contrast to the dark green velvet it was surrounded by, was a braided gold chain; Its delicate links twisted carefully by highly skilled hands. It was piled gently into a bundle surrounding its centerpiece. Unable to bring himself to pick it up just yet, his eyes were bright with sudden emotion and he gingerly traced his fingers upon the locket at its center.

The tender curvature of a white lily decorated its cover and was inlaid with the most beautiful mother of pearl that he had seen in a long time. His fingertips slowly found a clasp at the other side of the locket and opened it to reveal an even greater secret. Energy began to hum to life, emanating from the small object. Wisps of purple light fluttered around his fingertips a small crystal appeared inside. Dorian picked it up softly as tears began to pool in the corner of his eyes, as unlikely as they were to spill over. Watching him had greatly surprised the noble heiress, and with fascination, she observed the tumult he must be feeling. A war raged across his face. His olive eyes slipped from the small artifact and searched her own face.

" Where… Where did you get this?!" Had it not been any louder than a whisper, Lady Beaumont would have sworn that the Magister's tone was filled with offense. She shrunk a little in her seat and quietly clasped her hands in front of her.

" I journey to the Anderfels twice a year, misère, acquiring artifacts for trade and for my husband's gallery in Val Royeaux. A strange man approached me when I was in the marketplace, and tried to give me this locket. He assured me that he had procured it in an honest purchase, and told me that there were great tales of the hero who owned it, though he would not say their name." A dramatic pause caused her thoughts to focus, as of she were reliving the same experience over again.

"He said that if I ever came to great fortune, that it would bless me with an inspiring history. I was unable to inquire from him where it had come from, and the moment I looked back up to haggle a price with him, he had disappeared like a ghost! No one in the market, apart from myself, had noticed the man approach me or saw him afterwards. When I came to the Capital, I hid it in amongst my private collection for safe keeping. Since then, I've had strange dreams about the necklace. Some terrifying visions of demons and what was a talking... darkspawn." She tapered off in a brief moment of reverie.

"But others were wonderful! Laughter and adventure, only it was I who seemed to be the one experiencing them. Our mutual acquaintance... Lady Nightingale attended one of my Salons, as we have been acquaintances since we were girls. I had decided to display the artifact, and it came to her attention. I had never seen her look so taken aback before. That was when she gave me your name, misère, and told me that you knew where this locket came from and what it was."

Dorian's pulse seemed to be pounding in his throat, and the tightness in his chest constricted his breathing. He slipped his gaze back from her and onto the item. 'Lady Nightingale had been right'.

As soon as he saw the object, the importance of its existence was clear. With a small moment of concentration, his hand engulfed itself in a purple blaze and waved over the crystal. The light which had formerly been pulsating, now hummed in harmonious notes, and its strange whispers seemed to become coherent phrases. The aura highlighted his green eyes as memories slipped from his mouth.

"This is a… was... a sending crystal. An artifact of a curious sort enchanted to allow communication between another of its kind between two users." He slipped a hand to a silver chain beneath his heavy leather and silk brocade robes and revealed it to her. In unison, both crystals hummed and glowed in rhythm. The noble woman's mouth nearly fell open in scandal. Her eyes set ablaze with questions and intrigue. Dorian met her gaze briefly.

"This crystal was yours?! Maker, that's incredible. So it transports messages between two people by magic?!" A thousand more questions burned in her throat, waiting to blurt out until something in her thoughts clicked.

" But may I ask Magister Pavus, you said before that this was a sending crystal. What did you mean by that?"

Dorian's eyes had been drinking in the view of the small necklace in his hand. He didn't even look up at her when he smiled and waved a hand full of mana over the artifact.

"Just as I said my dear. This Item used to belong to me, and was intended to be used to communicate between myself and a... my... sister. Unfortunately, the item had been missing for nearly ten years before you acquired it. Though I'm still not sure I believe it's real. Someone has altered the enchantment on it. Instead of being a communication link between my own piece and this one, it seems it has become a memory well instead."

The woman cocked her head in an almost comical fashion. She had little understanding of magical terms, and looked at the Magister with obvious confusion, begging him to continue.

"For the lack of a better comparison, it is like placing coin in a magically protected vault. There is usually only one way in, and that is with the key. You can try and break the door, but most enchantments will destroy the content within before it allows access to outsiders. Someone has altered the enchantment on this one to relay the past instead of transmit the present like it should. The closest thing of its likeness is how the Dwarven Shaperate imprint memories into Lyruim. Though I haven't seen this type of magic in many years."

Lady Beaumont carefully weighed the information she had been given. Though she had little understanding of the Arcane, she was relatively clever and had always known what questions to ask.

"Messere, it seems that this amulet had once meant a great a deal to you. Could the strange man who gave it to me have meant for you to see the memories inside?"

Dorian's heart painfully thundered in his chest, his grip on the locket a little clammy. So many questions... So much unknown. His thoughts raced as he tried to search for the answers somewhere in his past experiences with this type of strange magic. It wasn't until he paused, and inspiration tapped on his heart. He set the piece down and then he removed his own necklace, touching the two crystals together. In a burst of great light came the rush of a powerful gust of air. Both of them were forced to shut their eyes for a moment.

Where the light had settled, the silhouette of a person had appeared. Though her detailed features were hard to make out against her radiant light, the curvature appeared feminine. The spirit smiled and reached out for Dorian in a childlike gesture. Lady Beaumont had to cover her mouth to keep from screaming. Dorian, noticing her alarm, clamped a hand down over her wrist across the table. His eye contact with the spirit never broke, but he whispered loud enough for the Orlesian to hear.

"Don't be afraid, this spirit will not harm us."

His words fell flat against the own serious doubt pooling in his chest. What had made him say that? Lady Beaumont still had to keep a hand clamped over her mouth but nodded reflexively. Dorian stayed his grip.

"Who are you spirit? Were you...trapped in the locket?" His voice was shaky even to his own ears, but the spirit only seemed to smile.

"I am Loyalty. Born from the memory of an unbreakable bond." Her voice rang in their ears as soft as a whistled tune. Yet, it echoed hauntingly with a double pitch. Dorian's grip on the locket loosened as his eyes widened in fascination. Lady Beaumont slowly lowered her hand from her mouth and clasped the fingers that Dorian had gripped around her wrist instead. They found strength in one another's earthly presence as the spirit continued promptly.

"I was not trapped, but chose to stay inside. My friend who found me wandering these old memories in the Fade, asked if I would be their Guardian until I was found by the kindred spirits that helped make them. My purpose is to find the one who held the key to unlock them."

Dorian's throat constricted with emotion, and his face strained with what seemed to be despair. The age lines in his handsome face crinkled as he forced the lump in his throat to be swallowed and sink to his stomach. He opened his mouth to speak and croaked out his next question.

"Why...why were you asked to guard to them?! By whom?! Are you here to only to resurrect the pain they bring?" His voice cracked as he tried to sound angry, and one of the tears he had been trying so hard to restrain, slipped down his cheek. He was getting on in years, and the burden of his experiences seemed to grow heavier every year. If it wasn't for his Amatus, and his friends with whom he shared these with, he might have lost the will to continue his fight for the greater good, long ago.

The lonely years in the Imperium had been brightened by very few things. And the memories that Dorian knew the locket contained were all he had left of that light. Lady Beaumont was speechless as she watched Dorian, her hand in his trembling with emotion. She had no idea that any of this would happen, and she felt almost responsible for at least a portion of his pain. She tried to show her compassion by gripping Dorian's fingers gently, though he seemed not to notice.

The spirit appeared to frown, and her almost blinding white hue suddenly dulled to a pale blue.

"It is the price of having loved someone. When memories are painful, you carry the sorrow with you always."

"The mage who placed me in the locket, her purpose was not to hurt, but to bring back light back into the lives of those who shared the bond that created me. With each time her heart beats, the world changes."

Lady Beaumont's understanding of what was happening seemed to become murkier with each statement passing from the spirit and she simply sat stunned, watching Dorian's torrent of regret play across his handsome features. The age lines in his face seeming to make him appear older than he had before.

Dorian's eyes bore into the spirit's aura, having no eyes to focus on. The pain that sunk deep into his guts lessening somehow at her words. Why had she sounded so much like Cole when saying that? This was his punishment then. For his part in everything that transpired, what little happiness he accrued before the darkness looming on the Horizon overtook them. He was to be mocked by whomever had stolen this from his friend's grave. His head swam with confusion and questions as he slipped his gaze back to the woman in the room.

"Well My Lady Beaumont, I suppose since you're already here, and it was you who brought this back to me, I should probably explain. Although, it might be easier to simply show you how the charm works. I must warn you, I'm not entirely certain this locket isn't a fake, and it could be a trap by one of my enemies. I cannot promise to protect you from whatever is inside."

The young woman's blond curls fell from their neatly stacked pile atop her head as she shook it. China blue eyes almost seem to sparkle with innocent excitement," I am prepared to face whatever it is milord."

With an almost pained sigh, Dorian lifted his head and nodded it," Alright spirit. Let's get this over with shall we?"

Seeming to pulsate again, the spirit lifted her ghostly form and pulsated into a blinding white light. It filled the room until everything seemed to wink out of visibility. The energy from the magic made both people's hair stand on end. It wasn't until Dorian heard with perfect clarity, the voice of his long passed friend, laughing that the visions fully filled their heads.


End file.
